James Sheehan - The Mayor of Lexington Avenue

“What’s up, Marguerite?”

“Nothing much.” She was trying to play the whole thing down. She knew that if Mike knew the real truth, he would stop at nothing to find out where his son was. But that decision was Elena’s, not hers. “I just talked to Elena. She told me that Rudy was in a little trouble and she asked to borrow five thousand dollars. Mike, I don’t have that kind of money.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I don’t know and I didn’t ask. She said it was minor.” She was pretty sure she was pulling off the nonchalant act. Lying over the telephone was a lot easier than lying in person.

Mike could tell that she knew more, but Marguerite was his only connection to his son-he couldn’t alienate her. This was an opportunity and he had to play according to her rules.

When Elena had first left, he was furious. Angry enough to have done something he would have regretted for the rest of his life. How could she do this to me? But he didn’t try to find her or his son. He didn’t have time. Another paramour had entered his life, one he had known for years, a lover who dominated his every breath.

It wasn’t until he sobered up years later that he had put the pieces of the puzzle in their proper place. Elena hadn’t done anything to him. He had done it to her and his son: staying away from home for days on a bender; coming home drunk, yelling and screaming; lying passed out on the front stoop for all the neighbors to see; spending the grocery money on booze. It was a wonder she’d stayed as long as she did, pleading and begging him to stop. Telling him she loved him, that she’d help him. He had tossed her aside like a toy he had outgrown. He didn’t need her: He didn’t need anybody-until the chickens came home to roost. .

Oh, it was difficult down there in that cesspool, seeing his reflection for the first time in a long time in its fetid waters-more difficult than the slow climb back up. But he knew if he didn’t take the time to see himself in all his grotesqueness, he would never make it all the way back. He also knew that if Elena hadn’t left him, if she had continued to provide the crutch for him to cling to, he would never have looked in that mirror.

Now he lived in the hope of somehow making it up to them. This was the first time he had ever been contacted. This was the first time they needed him. He had to respond without reservations or conditions.

“I can have the money for you tomorrow,” he told Marguerite.

“You can? Oh Mike, that’s great.”

“I’ll go to the bank first thing in the morning and I’ll meet you at the coffee shop at, say, nine or nine-fifteen.”

“That’s good. Mike, I know both Elena and Rudy will appreciate this.” She wanted to say more, to tell him that she would encourage Elena to call him, to let him know where she was. So at least he could visit his son. But that was not her decision and she didn’t want to raise any expectations in Mike’s mind.

She called Elena right away-no sense letting her worry all night about the money.

“Why did you do that?” Elena demanded.

“Because I knew it was the only way. I didn’t tell him where you were and he didn’t say anything about wanting to see Rudy. I told him you had asked me for the money and I didn’t have it. That was it. I’m meeting him at nine o’clock in the morning. Give me your bank information and I’ll wire-transfer the funds right after that.”

Elena paused for a long half minute, and then with a deep breath said, “Thanks, Marguerite, you’re right. I guess I have no other choice.”

As soon as she received the fifteen thousand dollar retainer, which Elena personally delivered to her office, Tracey James went to work. Her first call was to Dr. Harold Victor Fischer, a forensic psychiatrist in Vero Beach, whom she had worked closely with in the past. H.V. had impeccable credentials and always seemed to find a way to provide Tracey with just the right professional opinion she needed. She then walked up to the second floor to visit with Dick Radek, her investigator. After that, she prepared a Notice of Appearance, a pleading she filed with the court saying she was representing Rudy, and a Demand for Discovery, calling for the state to turn over every shred of evidence it had in the case against Rudy.

Her plan was simple but shrewd: Dr. Fischer, after meeting with Rudy and performing an “independent” psychiatric evaluation, would provide an opinion that Rudy, because of his limited intellectual ability and his nature, did not have the capacity to refuse to engage in conversation when the police began questioning him. Because the police knew of his limited intellectual ability, they should not have begun the interrogation in the first place. At the very least, when his mother arrived before the questioning began and demanded that it be stopped, they should have acceded to her wishes. Armed with this opinion, Tracey was going to file a Motion to Suppress Rudy’s statement to the police. She wasn’t sure what evidence they had yet but she knew from Elena that Rudy’s blood type was O positive, something he shared with millions of other people. If the confession and the blood were it, he’d be walking if she won the motion. If some of the neighbors had seen him, she’d have Dick talk to them and find out exactly what they were going to say. It was a tentative plan based on assumptions, but it was the best she could do until she knew more.

Tracey had told Dick Radek to send someone to Bass Creek for two weeks to hang around the barrio and find out as much as possible about the murder, the neighbors, and Lucy herself. When Tracey received Wes Brume’s file, Dick’s people would re-interview each and every witness. Perhaps the police had missed something. Perhaps she could put someone else in that house at the time of the murder.

Elena had a new problem to deal with when she got home from her second trip to Vero. Her boss, Philip Randle, was waiting in her office. She knew it meant trouble as soon as she saw him. Phil was the managing partner of a syndicate that owned the hotel and several other commercial properties throughout the state. He showed up on a Monday once every six weeks to go over the books with her and discuss any problems. From the day he gave her the job, Phil had had the utmost faith in Elena’s ability. His stay usually lasted less than three hours. Then he was off over the big bridge, heading back to his home in Miami.

Today, however, Phil had a sour look on his face, a look that spoke volumes.

“We have to let you go,” he told her abruptly after the usual pleasantries. Elena wanted to demand a reason but she already knew. She wanted to ask for another chance but she was too proud to beg. She just sat there in the office chair staring at Phil, who felt an obligation to explain.

“It wasn’t me, Elena. I argued against it. You’ve done a great job here from day one and I will give you a letter of recommendation wherever you go. Somebody sent a copy of the newspaper to me and my partners. You know, the one with the front page picture of Rudy getting arrested in front of the hotel. Every one of my partners called me. They don’t know you, Elena. To them it’s just business, and the picture was extremely bad publicity for the hotel. I tried to talk them out of it but it was no use.”

Elena didn’t say anything. She continued to stare at Phil, who felt compelled to fill the silence with words. “They want you to leave right away but I’m going to give you a week’s severance pay along with my letter of recommendation.” He handed her an envelope and made a move toward her to hug her goodbye. Elena stiffened, took a step back and glared at him. Phil got the message. He headed for the door but stopped before leaving.